When I was child, I lived next-door to my nonno and nonna, in little known, sleepy, Hope Valley, Western Australia. My grandparents cleared their land themselves and built their house by hand – remember, this was circa 60 years ago and there was very little machinery back then. It was not a commercial farm with 1000 hectares like Juan’s is, but it was big enough to house a fair few cows, many many goats, chickens, ducks, and the occasional couple of sheep. There were trees for climbing, trees for peaches, figs, locusts, lemons, even a pecan tree, to complement a vegetable garden filled with every delicious morsel you can think of – lettuce, chicory, carrot, onion, tomatoes, beans, potatoes, strawberries – you name it, it grew there and I ate it. My grandparents lived simply and happily; they lived off the produce from their animals and the land, only needing the supermarket to buy the occasional bit of flour, salt, sugar and staples for every Italian household – balsamic vinegar & EVOO. They made their own sausages, tomato sauce and cheese. And, of course, my nonna was a fabulous cook.
At the end of their paddocks was my Aunty Viola’s property. They had horse stables – many of their own, and many that other people kept on their property.
I spent my childhood darting between the two places – getting up at 5am to help my nonno feed the goats, collecting the eggs (with my nonno’s accent, not to be confused with ‘axe’) from the chicken coup, climbing up the ladder to the top of the duck shed to eat the figs from the tree, jumping in cow patties with my gumboots, and my cousin Kate teaching me everything she knows about riding – from saddling up, to riding a pony bareback (falling off every time), learning to jump, getting bucked off, racing Kate’s horses (one was an ex-race horse) and scaring ourselves to death when they bolted.
Daring adventures and dirty fingernails. This was my childhood.
I tell you all this because it is through these eyes I looked, as we stayed on the estancia, and the reason why I loved it so much. Being part of this simple life was like peering through the window to my childhood. Thank you to my family for giving me such happy memories, and thank you to Juan and Susann for making us a part of your home, showing us true gaucho, Uruguayan life and the opportunity for me to experience those happy memories all over again.
Now, if you’ve been bowled over by my nostalgic trip back in time, and think life is a peach on the estancia, you may be surprised. You’re expected to contribute and pull your weight, so if you are to survive your stay on this ranch, here’s a couple of tips:
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